Master in the Trees
by Mundungus42
Summary: The only man who can convict Lucius Malfoy has been missing since the war ended. Ministry official Hermione Granger just wants to do her job, but the denizens of the Forbidden Forest have other ideas. SSHG, post HBP, some rude bits.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: © 2006 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by J.K.Rowling or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

Author's Note: This story was written as a pinch-hit for the winter round of the SS/HG Gift Exchange on LiveJournal. PlaidPooka requested, "Romance. War is over, Snape's name has been cleared, but he can't be found. Hermione discovers him hiding in the Forbidden Forest and he's gone rather wild. She must get him to trust her, tame him, and bring him back into wizarding society." The following story is my response to her prompt. This may have been a pinch-hit, but the prompt was so interesting that I'm delighted to have had a crack at it!

Huge thanks to my snarky-yet-sweet beta reader, Mr. 42. Huzzah!

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Hermione Granger sat in her cramped office, perusing a sheaf of parchment and doing her best to ignore the shouting coming from the next office over. The Werewolf Support Services Office had to be the most ironically named in the entire Ministry, as the office neither served nor supported werewolves. A far more accurate name would have been the Repository for Ministry Workers Too Dim to Be Concerned About Infuriating Lycanthropes. Fortunately, most who stormed out of that office were too furious to notice her door, and those who did assumed it was a closet. They would not have been too far off. The tarnished brass plaque proclaimed it to be the office that had been the butt of Ministry jokes for decades. However, the jokes had largely died off when it became clear that the Ministry was not only obligated to have a Centaur Liaison Office, its previous failings had proved catastrophic during the war.

Now that the Reconstruction was in process, the Centaur Liaison Office, all seven meters square of it, was Hermione's by special decree of the Minister of Magic. While the office had yet to receive its first centaur - indeed, it was doubtful that there would be enough space for a centaur to fit fully in the office - Hermione made Ministry history as the first Centaur Liaison Officer to successfully liase with centaurs. As a result, she had to turn down several offers to lecture for a number of human pro-centaur groups, none of whom, she privately suspected, had ever seen a centaur, much less spoken with one. Her primary concern was ensuring that the events of the previous year could never happen again.

As Centaur Liaison Officer, she took it upon herself to visit various centaur herds in Britain and speak with whomever would speak with her about their troubles. More often than not, she would return to her office, ears burning from insults. But her regular presence eventually secured a grudging détente and occasional snide remarks, which she was pleased to realise, often had grains of actual grievance in them. She was presently researching a challenge posed to her during her last visit with Magorian, an elder in the Forbidden Forest herd.

"Tell me if you can, human, what your Ministry of Magic has ever done to aid us. If you can convince me that it will be in our best interest to have relations with humans, I will speak on your behalf to the others."

Her search had turned up little that would convince the proud centaur, but she owed it to her new Office to let him know what she had gleaned and that she was still searching for answers. Hopefully this would encourage him to frankly speak his wishes to her, and then Hermione would have something specific to discuss with her superiors.

A sudden flare of flame from the fireplace interrupted her reading.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "Hermione, have I told you it's damned disconcerting to see your office from this angle?"

Hermione gazed up to the space-saving fireplace she'd had installed in the ceiling. "Only a hundred times, Ron. One of these days, I hope you'll remember not to try to come all the way through. You'll only give yourself a headache."

Ron's tone took on a sulky edge. "I've half a mind not to tell you the latest in the Malfoy trial."

"And I've a whole mind that says 'I'm not interested.'"

"If I didn't know you so well, I'd think you were serious. Anyroad up, Parkinson's on the stand, and they'll probably do cross-examinations tomorrow."

Hermione groaned. "The defence is still presenting witnesses?"

"The Wizengamot's allowed them all," said Ron, "so now every sod the Malfoys can bribe is going to be singing his praises about how they all love Muggles and daisies and puppies. It's enough to make a fellow sick."

Hermione's lips were thin. "It also makes me wonder how many life sentences in Azkaban it'll take to keep Lucius Malfoy behind bars."

"Well, the money'll run out some time," said Ron philosophically. "Once that happens, he hasn't a snowflake's chance at midsummer."

"It's true that eventually he'll run out of money, political influence, and people to blackmail, but I highly doubt that it'll be during this trial."

Ron shrugged. "On the bright side, having loads of defence witnesses gives the prosecution more time to ferret out someone before the end of the trial to testify he wasn't under the Imperius Curse."

"Now I know you're having fun with me," said Hermione. "They wouldn't have brought him to trial without sufficient of evidence."

Ron looked from side to side for effect rather than concerns of eavesdropping. "Shacklebolt thinks it's right shameful the way it's being handled. Word has it that the prosecution was hoping that the court of public opinion would help them convict, so they leaked all those stories you've seen in The Prophet."

Hermione shook her head. "Though there's a large body of evidence to the contrary, McClaggen isn't stupid. Surely he knows his case will be thrown out if anyone can prove he's trying to prejudice the Wizengamot."

Ron gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's only what I've heard. I agree with you. What kind of pillock would risk losing the trial of the decade so he could say he did it all on his own?"

Hermione felt her temper rising. "The kind of pillock who'd Bludger his own team's Seeker to win an argument."

"I wasn't the one who asked him to Slughorn's party," said Ron innocently.

She glared at him. "Don't you have some important quills to be sharpening?"

"Junior Aurors get no respect," he complained.

"Cheer up," said Hermione with a smile. "I'm sure your partner will seek your advice on such important issues as what colour hair and what size nose are appropriate for any given undercover situation."

"No longer," said Ron gloomily. "Now that she knows I can't tell aubergine from royal purple, I'm sunk."

"Well then, I suppose she'll have to rely on you for your skill with long-term strategy instead of fashion advice."

Ron's mouth broadened into a grin. "Speaking of which, I've come up with a way that even McClaggen can't arse up the proceedings."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Ron shot her a cheeky wink. "Easy. Find the Greasy Git."

Out of habit, she nearly corrected him with Professor Snape's proper title, but she realised that she no longer knew what that title was. She gave a weak laugh in response. "Unfortunately, we can't just Accio him."

"No," agreed Ron. "Especially someone even the owls can't find. And speaking of befuddled creatures, aren't you supposed to be out bothering the centaurs?"

Hermione glanced at her wristwatch. "You're right! Need anything from Hogwarts?"

"Not unless it's something else Flich confiscated from the Marauders."

Hermione snorted. "Right. Fresh-cut mistletoe from the forest it is. Cheers."

"Try to stop by the Burrow on Christmas. Mum and Dad love hearing about what you're doing."

"Thanks, Ron," she replied. "I don't know if I can make it, but thanks anyway."

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

The Headmistress had tea waiting for her when she arrived in the office fireplace.

"Good afternoon, my dear," said the Headmistress. "It's good of you to join me."

"Always a pleasure, Headmistress."

"Tosh, I've told you time and time again to call me Minerva. 'Headmistress' is enough to make one feel stuffy, and we can't have that."

"I'm sorry, Minerva."

"That's better. It's easier for one to get gossip from one with whom one is on a first-name basis. Tell me of the Malfoy trial."

"The parade of defence witnesses continues."

The Headmistress shook her head. "Have you any news on the prosecutor's cross-examinations?"

"It's bad. And I don't just mean bad, I mean ineffectual and illegal to boot."

"Who says?"

"Ron reports that the prosecution took Malfoy to trial without sufficient witnesses. To make up for it, they're allegedly leaking court documents to the papers."

McGonagall's eyes closed, and she began massaging her eyelids. "I knew it was a mistake to put McClaggen in charge of the prosecution, as much as I hate to speak ill of any from our house."

"You don't have to apologise to me about insulting McClaggen," said Hermione, sipping her tea. "Still, even he couldn't completely bollix up the case if he had an airtight witness."

"By which you mean Severus," said McGonagall with a touch of aspersion.

"Well, don't you think it's irresponsible of him to stay hidden when he's needed so badly?"

"If Severus is happier wherever he is, then he's entitled to it. He's lived a thankless existence these past twenty years."

"But it never ends, does it?" persisted Hermione. "Voldemort's supporters are still around, the same prejudices that aided Voldemort's ascendancy are still in force, and very little has changed, in spite of our best efforts."

"There comes a time in every conflict, Hermione, when it's up to the young people to tip the scales. We of the older generations will not be here forever, as young Harry had to learn the hard way. It's time for you to step up and take responsibility for our world. We can't do everything for you."

"I hardly think asking someone to go on the witness stand and speak the truth is asking him to do 'everything' for us," said Hermione, "especially when everyone of my generation that would have been able to testify similarly is dead."

McGonagall sighed. "I'm afraid it's not simply a matter of finding Severus, my dear. We all saw things during the war, horrid things. I saw my students and colleagues cut down, and you lost your peers and friends. However, none of us can possibly imagine what Severus went through, what he saw, or what he felt. I sincerely believe that if not for him, we would all be at Voldemort's mercy."

"All the more incentive for him to come out of hiding," exclaimed Hermione. "If he doesn't, Death Eaters will walk free. How can we possibly expect to have any meaningful kind of rebuilding unless the guilty are brought to justice for their crimes? The Wizengamot cleared Professor Snape of all wrongdoing and awarded him an Order of Merlin in absentia. What more does he need?"

"Severus is only one man, Hermione," said McGonagall firmly, "and if you're looking for permission to harass him, you're looking in the wrong place."

Hermione looked at her curiously. "Do you know where he is?"

McGonagall opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it. She regarded Hermione appraisingly over her teacup. "If I did, would you expect me to tell you?"

"Yes, unless you truly believe he's better off where he is."

The Headmistress sighed. "I don't know, Hermione, truly I don't."

Hermione squeezed her hand. "Then we'll speak no more of it. Thank you very much for the tea, Minerva. Will I see you on Christmas Eve?"

"You're not planning to visit your family?"

"The centaurs wouldn't understand if I missed a visit, especially when I have some very complicated questions to answer tactfully. It's too important to miss."

"Well, if you already plan to visit the centaurs on the twenty-fourth, I'd be honoured if you'd join me for some Christmas Eve pudding when you're finished."

"What's the difference between Christmas pudding and Christmas Eve pudding?"

"About a cup of brandy," said the Headmistress with a ghost of a twinkle in her characteristically stern eye. "Last year was the only time I've ever tried to finish one on my own. Let's just say that my Christmas morning was less than merry."

This startled a laugh out of Hermione. "I will consider it my duty to form a united front against the ravages of overindulgence."

"Excellent. I'll expect you on Christmas Eve. Good afternoon, Hermione."

"Good afternoon, Minerva."


	2. Chapter 2

The afternoon was bracingly cold. The wan winter sunlight slanted through the trees, and the dead leaves on the forest floor sparkled with frost. Though the sun was already low in the sky, the Forbidden Forest was less dark and intimidating when its flora stood naked against the chilling breeze. It was also safer, since the Acromantulas buried themselves deep below the frozen topsoil to sleep during the frigid months. Hermione wiggled her fingers inside the mittens she'd knitted, refreshed by the cold air that filled her lungs.

As she walked the now-familiar path to the centaur's part of the forest, she began to hum Christmas songs in time with her steps. She was nearly through The Twelve Days of Christmas when she noticed a few drops of dark liquid on the forest floor. She frowned and bent to examine it. It was blood, so fresh that it had not yet frozen. She rose and looked about the clearing, noticing more drops of blood a few feet away. She followed the trail and found a large hart lying on the ground with an arrow through its neck. It was still warm to her touch, but its brown eyes stared blankly ahead, devoid of life.

The arrow had been fletched with pheasant feathers, probably the work of the centaurs. She frowned. Where were the hunters?

She heard a quiet rustle, as of hooves over leaves.

"Hello?" she called.

She was somewhat startled to see a pair of blank white eyes peering at her from behind a holly bush.

She gasped, not fully grasping at first what she was seeing.

The creature stepped into the clearing; nostrils flared, its long, impossibly thin legs stepping deliberately toward the fallen deer. It wasn't until it adjusted its membranous wings that Hermione realised she was seeing a Thestral for the first time.

The Thestral was everything Harry had described: weird, delicate, terrible, and beautiful all at once. It noticed her scrutiny and approached her, head cocked quizzically to the side. Hermione held out a shaking hand for him to sniff. She forced herself to remain still, even as she saw the Thestral's fangs flash as it licked the deer's blood from her fingertips. In spite of the blank gaze and sharp teeth, she couldn't help but run her hand along the warm neck beneath its silky mane. He whickered softly, then turned his head in the direction from which it had come.

Three other Thestrals appeared, including one juvenile. Hermione's Thestral made some soft noises and pawed the ground with one hoof. The others approached, sniffing Hermione, but they quickly lost interest and began to inspect the dead deer.

"Don't let me keep you from your supper," she said, remembering how easy it had been to give instructions to Hagrid's Thestrals.

The Thestral cocked one ear, as if considering, then quivered his withers in what she assumed was a shrug. She stroked his shining coat once more, and he turned to join the others, snorting softly to them. The juvenile Thestral seized the arrow in its teeth and yanked it from the deer's throat. It offered Hermione the arrow with as much delicacy as its growing fangs allowed.

She took it and thanked the Thestral, who whuffed in response. To her surprise, the largest Thestral seized the deer's hind leg in her mouth, spread her wings, and flew up into the trees, taking the deer with her. The others took off after her, the youngest squawking in protest as struggled to catch up.

Squinting against the sun, she could barely make out their shapes among the thick branches high overhead, but it seemed as if they had been joined by at least one other.

Hermione examined the arrow in her hand. The iron arrowhead had been cast and shaved down with great precision, and she was even more certain that it was a centaur arrow.

She shoved the arrow under her arm and replaced her mittens, determined to ask Magorian about what she had seen.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

She returned to her usual path and soon heard the familiar sound of arrows being nocked against bowstrings.

"Hello, Magorian!" she called gaily.

"What do you want, human?"

"To know you, to understand you to the best of my ability, and to represent your interests to my government." The response had become tradition, as had Magorian's reply.

"We have no use for your government, and we seek no audience with humans, whose intelligence we consider to be inferior."

"If you claim your intelligence is superior, then you must be willing to prove it," said Hermione with a smile.

"You didn't say she was insolent," said a melodious voice Hermione didn't know.

"I thought that went without saying, Burnish," rejoined Magorian, stepping out from behind a tree. Six other centaurs revealed themselves, many of whom she recognized as part of Magorian's regular patrol. Several nodded at Hermione in greeting.

The final centaur joined their circle and gazed at Hermione with cold blue eyes. Hermione bowed low immediately upon realising that the new centaur was female. Her heart began beating faster. She really was making headway if a centaur female had come to meet her.

"It's an honour to meet you," said Hermione. "I meant no insult to you or your kin. I simply wish to improve relations between our societies and, by your leave, see that your interests are known and respected by my people."

"Even if it in our interest that we be left in peace?" asked Burnish mirthlessly.

"With all due respect, that didn't work so well for either of our peoples last time."

"Bane and his followers were weak to consort with humans of any sort, regardless of whose side of your little conflict they were on," scoffed Burnish. "To hold all of us to his standard is an insult."

"There are many other centaurs that deeply resent his execution, in spite of his 'weakness,'" replied Hermione calmly. "I am very sorry that circumstances should interfere with the way that both of our communities would rather live, but we can no longer afford to be ignorant of one another's ways. Please, tell me what you would have us do for your people."

Burnish shook her head. "Why should I care to enlighten your pitiful race?"

"Because our people, in ignorance, have released Acromantulas, a Cerebrus, dragons, Blast-Ended Skrewts, giants and a sentient Ford Anglia into your forest, just to name a few. You cannot afford our ignorance. How long until the skrewts cause a fire? How long until the spiders encroach upon your territory? They have no compunction about killing the young of other species."

Burnish's eyes flashed. "Do you think us incapable of protecting our foals?"

"I'm certain you can now. Against whatever else may be dumped into the forest, who can say?"

"I have heard enough," said Burnish shortly. "I have no use for her at present." She tossed her golden mane and galloped off into the forest. Magorian and the others followed her, leaving Hermione alone in the forest.

Hermione's heart sank as she watched them leave. None of the others would even look at her. She blinked back tears and shoved her mittened hands into her pockets. Somehow, she had completely bollixed up, and she had no idea how to fix it.

Her only recourse was one that she promised herself she would never use. However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and she needed expert advice.

As she turned to leave, she did not notice the eyes watching her from the treetops.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Firenze's establishment was the premiere nightclub for mingling between centaurs, humans, goblins, and other cosmopolitan individuals. It was located on the outskirts of a tiny town in Lincolnshire miles from any large population and as a result had the best visibility of any magical observatory in the British Isles. On weekends, there was live music interspersed with lectures by the finest astronomers and diviners of the age. The guest list was short, but Hermione's name was permanently on it.

She wore her new blue dress robe and ordered a martini from the ginger-headed centaur behind the bar whilst waiting for her host to arrive. She admired the domed ceiling on which was magically projected whatever was being viewed by the establishment's telescope. On this evening Jupiter loomed overhead, with its moons appearing as large as the Earth's own satellite in the nighttime sky. Onstage, a goblin was lecturing on Europa, one of the few words she could understand that was not in Gobbledegook.

Hermione sipped her drink quietly for a few moments. Sadly, her relaxation was short-lived.

"Excuse me, are you Hermione Granger?" Her interlocutor was a young male centaur with close-cropped brown hair.

"Yes, I am."

"I thought so- you're the one who started the Ministry department, right?"

"Well, actually, the Centaur Liaison Office has existed for several hundred years. I'm simply the current head."

The centaur looked slightly taken aback, but shrugged off his discomfiture. "No matter. Say, why don't I buy you a drink and we'll liase?"

Hermione just managed to keep from rolling her eyes at the tired line. "I'm sorry. I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, I see," said the centaur, coldly. "Well, it's good to know exactly how far your goodwill toward my race goes."

"She didn't reject you because you're a centaur, Nessus," came an amused voice from behind them. "She rejected you because you're not showing her any respect." Firenze had arrived. "Good evening, Hermione, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." He kissed her cheeks in the continental style.

"Good evening, Firenze. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice."

"Not at all. You look lovely this evening."

Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink. "Thanks. You do too."

Having given up hope of returning to his herd, Firenze had embraced his human half, travelled the continent, and begun wearing clothes and mastering human customs. Tonight, he wore a sapphire velvet jacket with a tailored shirt and cravat that complimented his eyes. A sword in a silver scabbard at his waist emphasised the impression of power and urbanity that he radiated. More than one female eye gazed enviously in her direction.

He gestured for her to sit, then signalled the bartender to bring them drinks.

"I do apologise for Nessus- he's a frightful bore, but he still holds sway with the centaurs in Swindon. Now, my dear. What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not sure what I did wrong, but I fear I may have irreparably damaged my relationship with the Forbidden Forest herd."

Firenze gave a small smile. "Well done."

Hermione shook her head. "I was so close to a real breakthrough. Magorian brought a female named Burnish to see me."

"Burnish came to see you?"

"Magorian's patrol surrounded me, we traded pleasantries, and then Burnish arrived and started asking questions."

Firenze took a sip from the glass the bartender set before him. "Go on."

"She gave me the same kinds of objections Magorian did, cut me off abruptly, told the others she had no use for me, and left. The others followed her."

"Good," said Firenze approvingly.

"That's good? What would a bad reaction have been?"

"First of all, you must understand that Burnish is a very high-ranking female. Speaking with her at all should be considered a major triumph. A bad reaction would have been refusing to speak with you directly or asking the archers to shoot you. As it is, I suspect you quite impressed her."

"Then why did she leave?"

"I suspect that you threw her off balance. Cutting off the conversation was her way of maintaining control."

"Then how do I approach her again without putting her on the defensive?"

Firenze took a thoughtful sip from his glass. "Go to the forest tomorrow and bring her a gift. She probably won't come herself, but give it to one of the sentries. Tell them to thank her for her time yesterday and that you look forward to speaking with her again. Consistent signs of respect are key when dealing with Burnish. She is very proud, but she is also a creature of logic. I think you will do well with her."

"Would food be an appropriate gift?"

Firenze nodded. "Ideally, something hot. My herd may refuse clothing, but their human parts feel the cold as keenly as you do. Domesticated meat would also be appreciated- they tire of game, particularly during the winter."

"That reminds me," said Hermione, pulling the miniaturised arrow from her evening bag and returning it to its usual size with a tap of her wand. "This killed a deer in the forest, but there were no centaurs anywhere in the immediate vicinity. I've never known centaurs to waste life like this before."

Firenze idly fingered the feathers in the shaft. "Did the deer go to waste?"

"Well, no. A few Thestrals found it and spirited it off for supper."

"Then it served its intended purpose."

"It was left for them?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Hagrid used this strategy to 'train' them to do work. Our intent is purer. We simply want them to thrive."

"I didn't think that the Forbidden Forest centaurs were interested in any community but their own."

Firenze smiled. "You may be right. However, centaurs and winged horses spring from the same source. Some centaur mythologies hold that winged horses are closer to the gods than centaurs. Why else would the gods have corrupted centaurs with human features and given winged horses the means to travel between the earth and the heavens?"

"Then why do centaurs feed the Thestrals and not, say, unicorns?"

"Because Thestrals are the most gentle of all horsekind. Centaurs would sooner harm a foal than a Thestral."

"Gentle? With those fangs?"

Firenze gave her a patient smile. "Tell me, Hermione. Why can Thestrals only be seen by those who have seen one of their own die?"

Hermione pictured the Thestral's grotesque visage. "So that they'll be associated with death and left alone?"

"That is the common human belief. As carrion eaters, Thestrals are held with suspicion as harbingers of death or ill fortune. However, centaurs see them not as bad omens, but rather as guardians and comforters of the aggrieved."

Hermione digested this, remembering the creature's silky coat and warm breath.

"What many do not understand," continued Firenze, "is that the reason Thestrals eat carrion is because they do not hunt. They will not cause harm unless grievously threatened. Centaurs and Thestrals have maintained a symbiotic relationship as long as our history records."

Hermione gazed appraisingly at her host. "You were the one who told Hagrid how to train the Thestrals, weren't you?"

"Yes," admitted Firenze. "It was through my folly that my herd's Thestrals have become accustomed to human presence."

"Do you regret it?" asked Hermione, drink loosening her reserve.

"I haven't decided," said Firenze. "I abhor Hagrid's making them beasts of burden, but so many humans have needed comfort in recent years that I cannot say he was wrong to bring Thestrals to Hogwarts."

Hermione met Firenze's eyes. "I know that Harry was more grateful for the Thestrals than he knew how to say."

Firenze acknowledged her thanks with a graceful nod. "I am glad, for all of our sakes."

"You've been a great help, Firenze. I am so very sorry to have bothered you this evening."

"My dear Hermione, I would have been far more bothered had you not sought my assistance periodically. I respect that you wish to form your own conclusions based on your experiences, but analyses are strengthened when you consult multiple resources, not weakened. Now, if I have sufficiently answered your questions, I would be honoured if you would join me at my table. A Muggle physicist is about to give us a lecture on dark matter and its continued influence on planetary motion."

Hermione smiled, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and pulled a notepad and quill from her handbag. "Well, I do have some cooking to do, but the night is young. I think I can spare an hour or two."


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Hermione arrived at work an hour early and left a note for the head of her department explaining that she was taking the day to do more fieldwork. This was not unusual, and as long as she turned in reasonable receipts for reimbursement, there were no questions asked.

Not wishing to disturb the headmistress so early in the day, Flooed to the fireplace at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. She waved to the bleary-eyed witch who tended the bar in the early morning and made her way down the windswept streets. Several inches of snow had fallen in the night, and it swirled about her feet. The chicken potpies she had baked for the centaurs were in her pocket, magically shrunk and heated, but she had one more stop to make.

Even magic couldn't rid the air in the butcher shop of a slightly ferrous tang. Hagrid's usual Thestral meal of half a cow was entirely too expensive, but the butcher had a sheep that he was willing to part with at a much more reasonable price. The butcher tied it up in brown paper and shrunk it to the size of a Quaffle.

It was a slightly longer walk to the centaur's part of the Forbidden Forest from Hogsmeade, but Hermione didn't notice the cold between her anticipation for the morning's events and the warm pie in her pocket. She soon came to the clearing where she had seen the Thestrals the day before and laid her purchase near a holly bush. She returned the sheep to its normal size and vanished the paper and string. She shoved her mittened hands into her pockets and shifted her weight anxiously from foot to foot.

She did not have long to wait. With a sudden whoosh, an adult male Thestral landed not fifteen feet from her, making her jump in surprise. It sniffed the sheep and raised its head in an eerie shrieking call that echoed from the empty trees. Another Thestral landed in the clearing, this one female, and joined the male by the sheep. Soon, there were seven crowded around the carcass, ripping off small strips of mutton and conversing in soft whickers and snorts. Hermione thought she recognised the Thestral that she had spoken to previously, and her suspicions were confirmed when he left the circle and came over to sniff her. As she patted his pointed snout, he caught her right sleeve in his teeth and tugged gently.

Though startled, she allowed the Thestral to draw her closer to the others. It released her, ripped a chunk of meat from the sheep's shoulder and, with his head, gestured for her to follow him. She did so, only occasionally catching her hair and cloak on the thick underbrush, until they came to a clearing where a female Thestral rested on the ground.

Hermione was surprised to note that this Thestral's wings were held out at an awkward angle.

"Are you all right?" she asked the Thestral, wondering if her knowledge of basic first aid would be of any use to an injured flying horse.

The mare whinnied and spread her wings to reveal her back to Hermione.

Hermione gasped.

Clinging to the Thestral's back was a man. At least, she assumed it was a man, as it had two arms, two legs, and wore rags that appeared to have been clothes at one point, but when he raised his face to look at her, she wasn't entirely convinced of his humanity. The face was a mass of thick beard and was further obscured by the black snarls of hair that hung down in his face. His black eyes darted back and forth between Hermione and the other Thestral, who gently laid the piece of mutton on the ground near him.

A hand with long yellowed claws shot out to seize the raw meat, which he raised to his mouth and began gnawing. Hermione looked helplessly at the Thestral that had brought her, and he nodded at the man encouragingly.

"Erm, hello?" she said tentatively.

The man's head snapped up, eyes wide, and he screamed at her, a wild and awful sound. He leaped from the Thestral's back with the agility of an ape and swung himself into a tree overhead. He screeched at her again, sounding very like a Thestral himself, launched himself into the branches of an adjacent tree, and scrambled higher until Hermione could no longer see him.

The female gave Hermione an admonitory look, then shook her wings and walked away to where the others were feeding.

"What on earth was that?" Hermione asked the male Thestral who had brought her there.

He butted her hand in response, and she scratched his forehead absently. The two of them walked back to the clearing. The other Thestrals had carried away the sheep's remains. Her Thestral chuffed his disapproval and took off after them, leaving Hermione to consider what she had seen.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice the centaur standing in front of her until he cleared his throat.

"Oh, Magorian, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"What are you doing here?"

She puzzled for a moment over what he meant and belatedly recalled the purpose of her visit. "I bring a gift for Burnish as a small token of my thanks." She removed the pie from her pocket and enlarged it with her wand.

"Thanks for what?" Hermione was pleased to notice that in spite of his unfriendly demeanour, his nostrils were twitching.

She held out the steaming pie. "In thanks for her generosity in allowing me an audience. Please tell her that I will call on her at her convenience."

"I will tell her what you say, but do not expect an answer."

"I wouldn't dare," said Hermione with a deferential nod. "I will leave you in peace. Thank you very much for helping me."

"I am not taking it to help you," he said with habitual scorn. "I deliver your gift because it is in my interest to do so."

"I hope she gives you a piece," said Hermione with a smile, quite accustomed to the centaur gruffness.

Magorian snorted in response and trotted off.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Hermione had only visited the Werewolf Support Services Office once before to ask where to find office supplies. The blank stares she received then were identical to the ones she received when she asked them if the creature she encountered in the Forbidden Forest could have been a werewolf.

By the time she returned to her office, she was in a foul mood.

"That bad, eh?" asked Ron, who seemed to have the gift of appearing in her ceiling whenever Hermione's desk was in danger of being permanently dented from contact with her forehead.

"If I ever have the bright idea to go next door again, please beat me with something," said Hermione, crossly. "A more useless bunch of bureaucrats I've never seen."

"Now you understand why I became an Auror. None of that office nonsense unless we do something bad. Why did you bother with next door, anyway?"

"Oh, I saw something in the forest today, and I thought it might be a werewolf."

"Couldn't you tell from looking at him?"

"That's what made me wonder. I haven't seen someone that fierce looking since Fenrir Greyback."

Ron blinked in surprise. "Do you want an escort next time?"

Hermione gave a half-shrug. "No, my guide wouldn't have brought me to see him if he were likely to hurt me."

"Well, thank goodness you're free until after Christmas."

"Actually, Firenze said that consistency will be key if I want the herd's head females to speak with me, so I'll be bringing gifts every day until I can get a proper audience."

"You'd think horses would be suspicious of Greeks bearing gifts," remarked Ron.

"They're plenty suspicious enough," said Hermione, wearily pulling out a quill and her leather-bound notebook. "I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but I've three days of notes to write up."

"You'll work yourself into an early grave if you keep up at this rate," said Ron. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"I almost hate to ask, but if you have any real tea in your office, I'd kill for a cup. All we've left down here is chamomile, and I'll need something a bit stronger if I want to finish tonight."

Ron nodded. "Real tea. I'll see what I can do."

He disappeared from her fireplace, and Hermione began to write about her experiences of the past few days, pausing in her narrative to update the index cards that she used for keeping track of the centaurs and their status in the herd, or to look up a detail of a previous visit. She wrote down everything she could recall from her conversation with Firenze, updated her card on Burnish, and reluctantly made a card for the obnoxious centaur she'd met at Firenze's club, reminding herself that it was her job to be aware of what centaurs wanted, even if it was only a one-night stand.

She wasn't certain how much to write about the Thestrals. Certainly she felt drawn to them, and they were important in centaur culture, but she wasn't entirely sure they fell under her jurisdiction. Still, if the head of the Magical Creatures division had a problem with her purchasing a sheep for the Thestrals, she would simply rescind her request for reimbursement, and she'd have her answer.

Her mind drifted back to the creature she'd found clinging to the back of the mare, and her quill hand absently began sketching him. He didn't seem to have been hurting the Thestral, as she had feared. In fact, the filly had seemed almost sorry when he retreated to the trees. But why, then, had the male Thestral led her to him?

"Guardians of the aggrieved," Firenze had called them. She glanced down at her drawing, snorting at the messy lines that formed a surprisingly accurate rendering of his hair. He'd been so thin, nearly as skeletal as the Thestrals, which wasn't surprising, considering the fact that he seemed to have been adopted by carrion eaters. She couldn't help wondering what he was doing there. Was he a feral denizen of the forest? No, his clothes fit him well, for all that they had been torn to shreds. Was he perhaps someone who had sought the Thestrals out for comfort? Unlikely, since she was one of only a handful of humans who knew the reptilian horses' true purpose. Then, she concluded, he must be someone on the run, hiding on the fringes of civilization.

Her quill scratched across the surface of her parchment, capturing an approximation of the shocked look on the man's face before he had screamed at her. He reminded her strongly of Sirius in the Shrieking Shack, terrifyingly rough and wild. Even when Sirius had begun convincing them of the truth, she had been so relieved when Professor Snape had arrived-

Her quill slipped, bisecting the sketch with a thick black slash.

She started as her fireplace flared to life and Ron appeared, carefully holding a steaming mug of dark, fragrant tea perpendicular to the floor. "Alright, Hermione? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I rather think I have," said Hermione softly.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione considered going for help, but the authorities would be useless, since Snape had never been subpoenaed and had broken no laws. Her friends, Ron in particular, still harboured resentment that Dumbledore's Penseived memories had been sufficient to clear him of murder, and Minerva had made it quite clear that she wasn't interested in pulling him away from his new life, if that's what she had the audacity to call it.

The next morning, Hermione was waiting in front of the Hogsmeade butcher shop when it opened. The proprietor gave her a curious look at seeing her a second day in a row but filled her order for a beef shoulder without asking questions. She had not forgotten her raison d'etre- she had a crown roast filled with apple raisin stuffing for the centaurs, but she had to find Professor Snape. She'd brought a cloak for him and some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding -the two dishes that no Englishman can resist- if only she could find him to deliver it. He seemed quite adept at disappearing if he wanted to.

It was much greyer today than the previous day had been, and the wind was so bitterly cold that she broke down and cast a Warming Charm on her cloak and boots. Snowfall was likely, and she hoped that it would hold off until she'd had the opportunity to search for Professor Snape.

She was surprised to find Magorian waiting for her just inside the tree line, and she stammered a greeting.

He held up a hand to stop her. "You will come with me," he said, his dark face giving nothing away.

"I will," she agreed, stepping from her usual path to stand beside him.

They walked in silence, broken only by occasional chirping from flocks of finches that pecked seeds from the dead bushes. Hermione quickly learned that it was to her advantage to walk behind Magorian, who crashed through the underbrush without a second thought. He led her up hills and across lowland streams, deeper into the forest than she had ever been. After walking for nearly an hour, he gestured with his hand.

Below them was a grey valley in which stood a medieval hamlet, comprised of stone buildings whose roofs were constructed from tightly packed bundles of sticks, akin to thatch. Magorian led her to a vast rectangular building that reminded her of a Viking longhouse. When she stepped inside, she was met by a blast of warm, fragrant air, redolent of cedar and herbs.

She stared around her in astonishment. The walls were panelled with inlaid wood, depicting battles, myths, and minutely detailed representations of the night sky. The earth floor was covered with soft moss and smelled of moisture and new growth. Suddenly realizing that Magorian was not waiting for her, she trotted after him to the end of the building, where seven centaurs stood: Burnish, three other females and three males. Magorian joined them and gestured for her to stand before them on a large stone dais.

Hermione kept her eyes down, waiting for them to make the first move. At last, a roan female spoke.

"We believe you have not been honest with us, human." Her brown eyes were narrowed.

"I beg your pardon," said Hermione. "I don't know what you mean."

"I believe you seek to yoke us the way your Hagrid enslaved our cousins."

Hermione stared at her. "Absurd!" she exclaimed.

"What else are we to think, that you come with food for us whilst you ply our cousins with fresh meat, the way Hagrid did?" said Burnish. "Why else if you do not seek to control them or us?"

"The food I bring you and your cousins is intended only as a token of good faith," replied Hermione.

"How can we believe the claims of someone representing the same Ministry whose prior representatives have only insulted us?" This came from a grey-bearded stallion whose skin was as freckled as his hindquarters were dappled.

"You may either believe me, or you may not," said Hermione, with a bit of an edge to her voice. "I should like to think that my previous visits would support my claim rather than lead you to doubt it."

"It is true that you have been most persistent," said Magorian with grim amusement, "but you have still not given me a satisfactory answer as to why it would be to our advantage to work with you."

Hermione took a deep breath. This was it. "We have built our societies apart from one another by choice, and to a large extent it has been successful. But by severing our governances to the extent that we have, we sowed the seeds for the reprehensible actions taken by both humans and centaurs toward one another during the war. As a first step and a further sign that I am in earnest, I would, with your permission, enact legislation granting centaurs 'being' status. I know that centaurs previously refused because it meant being intimately involved with humans, but our government has become much more self-sufficient now. Such an action now would grant centaurs the same protections as humans under Magical Law, such as the right to legal representation and the ability to appeal Wizengamot decisions. Furthermore, it would help us prosecute our own criminals who harass centaurs and protect your forests from human encroachment and invasion by non-native species."

Encouraged by the fact that nobody had interrupted her, she cast her eyes down so as to appear submissive. "I have many other ideas, but I am still woefully ignorant of centaur culture and history. I seek only the opportunity to learn more about you."

"Go learn from the traitor Firenze," said Burnish, baring her teeth.

"I have spoken with Firenze," said Hermione, not wishing to deny it, "but he does not represent the majority of centaurs living in this country. Furthermore, it is not his permission that I seek, it is yours."

"If we forbid you from implementing this change," inquired a chestnut male, "will you leave us in peace?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "If you turn down this opportunity, I will no longer encourage you to accept 'being' status. However, I will not stop seeking your advice, nor will I stop visiting."

Magorian cleared his throat, though it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "If there are no more questions, I will return the human to the part of the forest she knows."

Hermione bowed her head. "Thank you all very much for giving me the opportunity to speak with you. Please accept this gift of thanks." She pulled the crown roast from her pocket and enlarged it, tinfoil pan looking quite out of place on the stone dais.

As Magorian led her to the door, she was delighted to hear delighted lip-smacking behind her. At least someone in the Forbidden Forest was going to have a hot supper this evening!

The trip back to her usual path seemed to pass much more quickly, and Hermione couldn't help but hum I Saw Three Ships in time with her steps. Magorian looked back at her. "I suppose you feel you've done well."

"I'm pleased to have been granted an audience," she replied, "and I'm pleased not to have been shot for my impertinence."

This brought a deep chuckle from Magorian. "You have been talking to Firenze."

Hermione was startled by such levity from the normally taciturn centaur.

"Burnish once shot Firenze when he sought her hand one Beltane. She only grazed him, but it succeeded in cooling his ardour for a few days, at least."

Hermione goggled. "Firenze and Burnish?"

"It was many years ago," said Magorian with a sad smile. "Tell me, how is Firenze?"

Hermione shrugged. "Successful. Wealthy. Impeccably mannered and dressed. Popular with girls of every species."

"Has he found a mate?"

"He went on a date with a girl I went to school with, but it was nothing serious. Other than that, I don't think so." Hermione looked thoughtfully at her companion. "I hope you'll forgive my asking, but are centaurs monogamous?"

"It depends on the herd," replied Magorian. "Some herds have a head male with many females. Some have a head female with many males. Our herd is perhaps overly influenced by close proximity of a human school, so we tend toward monogamy and do not lack for passion."

Hermione bit back a giggle at the stern centaur's claim of passion, and nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you."

The trees were starting to look familiar, and soon Hermione found herself standing in the Thestrals' clearing.

"Human, a word of advice," said Magorian, voice grave. "It would give greater sway to your arguments if you ceased feeding our cousins in this way."

She met his eyes. "I can't yet."

Magorian frowned. "You do have plans for them."

"Not for them," she said quickly, "for one under their protection. He is a man, or what's left of one, and it is imperative that he return with me, and very soon."

Magorian's face settled into impassivity. "Is he a criminal?"

"No, just the opposite. We need him to speak the truth against criminals."

"Is that why you pursue us so doggedly? To secure our help in returning this man to the human world?"

"Of course not, the Thestrals only showed him to me yesterday."

"They showed him to you?"

"Yes. He was curled up under a mare's wings, eating raw meat. When I spoke to him, he fled to the trees."

"It is his custom," agreed Magorian.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You know him?"

"Do you think any man could hide in our forest without our herd knowing?" asked Magorian sharply. "Our cousins have tended him in their way, and we have been content to let them. However, if they have tried to return him to you and he has refused, then it is time to intervene."

Before Hermione could blink, Magorian had drawn his bow and fired an arrow into the trees far overhead. There was a cry, a sound of snapping branches, and a black shape hurtled toward the ground.

Hermione's wand was in her hand in a flash. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The spell arrested his plummet, but blood welled from the arrow wound in his thigh and fell with a soft patter on the frozen leaves. She spread her cloak on the ground and laid him gently upon it. His face was scratched from having come in contact with so many branches on the way down, and he was unconscious.

Magorian came up behind her. "The arrow has no head on it and may be extracted relatively painlessly. He will most certainly live. See that he does not return to the forest unless he is as resistant to good sense as you are."

Hermione severed the arrow a few inches from where it had entered his thigh, transfigured her scarf into a heavy bandage, and twisted it on the broken end of the arrow to make a makeshift tourniquet, which slowed the bleeding significantly. Hermione gave silent thanks that her parents had insisted on her being a Girl Guide.

Several Thestrals had landed around them, nuzzling the fallen man. One flattened his ears and whinnied angrily at Magorian, who whickered deferentially. Hermione was surprised to see that none of them touched the blood that had fallen.

"Magorian, I'd like to give them what I brought today. After this, I will no longer bring them food."

"Then do so," said Magorian. "You may come to us tomorrow. We will have made a decision on your proposal by then."

The centaur turned to leave, but Hermione stopped him. "I brought this to tempt him from the trees, but I thought you might like it." She pressed the warm platter of roast beef and pudding into his hands.

"It is not necessary," said Magorian, whose firm grip on the dish belied his nonchalant words.

"No," said Hermione. "It's not. But I am grateful for your help. I'll take him back to the castle now to see to his wounds."

"I do not care if you leave him to freeze," said Magorian. "However, my cousins might view it differently. Goodbye, human."

"Goodbye, Magorian. I'll see you tomorrow."

Magorian galloped off into the forest, and Hermione turned to the Thestrals, who were still clustered around Professor Snape. She threaded through them, cast a warming charm on the cloak, and wrapped it firmly around him. One of the Thestrals snorted at her, ears back.

"Shooting him wasn't my idea," she protested. "I simply want to take him to where he's needed."

Something warm and velvet-soft pressed into her, and she turned to find her Thestral friend lipping her bare hand. She'd forgotten to put her mittens back on after tending to Professor Snape. She ran her hand along his neck in the warmth beneath his mane, and it suddenly occurred to her that to please the centaurs, she could no longer seek out the Thestrals for her own pleasure. On an impulse, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to see you any more. I suppose this is goodbye."

Her Thestral made a low sound deep in his chest, and Hermione felt her sorrow at the loss melt into a feeling of resolution and pride in her accomplishments with the centaurs. She gazed at the Thestral, wide-eyed. He whickered, which sounded like chuckling to her ears.

"Thank you," she said, stroking his muzzle. In response, he nudged the pocket in which Hermione kept the beef she'd shrunk.

Laughing, she removed the beef shoulder from her pocket and Enlarged it. Even the Thestral who had admonished Magorian joined in the feast.

She raised her wand to Professor Snape. "Mobilicorpus."

The first flakes of snow began to fall from the sky as she entered the front gates of Hogwarts, her former teacher bobbing limply behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

From the sounds she could hear from the hallway, the teachers and students who were staying for the holidays were at lunch. She couldn't allow them all to see Professor Snape -not that anyone would have recognised him- but she knew that she would need a great deal of privacy when he awoke. Just to be safe, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on him and brought him to the Hospital Wing, which was dark and empty. Good. Madam Pomfrey was on holiday.

Hermione laid him on a screen-concealed bed and lit the lamps with a wave of her wand. She used a Severing Charm to remove what remained of his clothing and Banished what dirt and grime she could.

Confident that he would not die before regaining consciousness, she began rummaging through Madam Pomfrey's stores for bandages, Blood Replenishing Potion, and disinfectant. She was poised to yank the remains of the arrow out of his leg when the door of the Infirmary opened with a loud bang and the headmistress strode in, followed closely by a suspicious-looking house elf.

"What in the Nine Hells is going on in here?" Her eyes widened in shock. "Hermione, what are you-" she cut off with a gasp at the sight of the on the bed. "Is that-" she seemed unable to say the name.

"It's Professor Snape," finished Hermione softly.

Minerva rounded on her. "What have you done to him?" she demanded, trembling with rage.

"I didn't do anything to him, apart from bringing him here," she retorted, anger rising. "He needed immediate medical attention. Look at the state he's in! Why did you warn me away from him?"

The headmistress approached the bed and conjured a sheet to protect his dignity. She examined his emaciated body, clawed fingernails, matted hair and beard, and finally his wounds. She cast a spell that Hermione didn't know, which neatly pulled the arrow from his leg.

Hermione applied pressure to the wound. When she was satisfied that the bleeding had slowed, she cleaned the wound, cast a spell to help the wound heal more quickly, and looked pointedly at the headmistress, who had fallen heavily into the chair next to the bed.

She finally raised her eyes to Hermione's. "You must believe me that if I had any idea, I would have intervened."

"You didn't know he was living in the forest?"

Hermione was startled to see tears in the headmistress's eyes. "Of course I didn't," she snapped, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Nobody in the Order knew, of course, and none of the Death Eaters who were questioned under Veritaserum had any idea as to his whereabouts. But his former Hogwarts house elf couldn't be given orders by anyone else, so we knew he was still alive. We were surprised when he didn't resurface after his trial and even more shocked that he never picked up his Order of Merlin. Frankly, I'd assumed it's because not one of us believed he could be innocent prior to seeing the memories Albus left us. The lie Albus had constructed was so much easier to believe than the truth, even after seeing Severus fight at Potter's side at the end of it all."

"Ron thought Moody had Professor Snape under the Imperius Curse," said Hermione with a sad smile, wrapping gauze around his leg.

"He's no longer Professor Snape, you know," said Minerva. "You should get used to calling him Severus." She clapped her hands, and a house elf appeared with a pop. "Toddy, please bring us tea and some sandwiches, and tell Professor Flitwick that I won't be able to meet with him this afternoon."

"Yes, headmistress!" the elf squeaked before winking out of the room.

The headmistress turned to Hermione. "My dear, I must ask. How did you find Severus and how did he end up with an arrow in his leg?"

"It's complicated, but I believe that Severus has been living in the forest with a wild Thestral herd since Voldemort's death." She continued her narrative, and Minerva gasped at all the right places. The food arrived, and after a warm and filling lunch, Hermione felt much better and broached the subject of Snape's mental state.

The headmistress nodded. "The first step will be moving Severus into his old quarters to convalesce. As excellent as the staff at St. Mungo's are for physical healing, they're ill-equipped to handle injuries of other kinds. If Severus is to be fit to give evidence against Malfoy, he'll need more intensive care than St. Mungo's can give. The very least we can do is hide him until we assess his ability and willingness to testify. You've brought him this far. Are you prepared to see this through?"

Hermione recalled Magorian's parting words and nodded in agreement.

"I shall send an owl to your employer that you are in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts and will not be able to leave for several days," said the headmistress, shaking the crumbs from her robes. "The password to Severus's quarters is 'bonny brae.' You may enter through the Duchess of Burgundy's portrait in the west dungeon. I'll meet you there presently with the contents of the infirmary's potions stores."

"Thank you, Minerva."

"You're welcome. Thank you for bringing him back, Hermione. Merlin knows he won't ever thank you, but I'm grateful all the same."

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Severus's rooms were as gloomy as his classroom, with heavy velvet draperies so deep a violet that they appeared black in the lamplight. She laid him on the bed, still wrapped in the cloak she'd given him in the forest, and pulled the curtains open. It was snowing harder, and the lead-paned glass was decorated with swirls of frost. Hermione was surprised to realize that his quarters in the west dungeon were above ground.

The man on the bed groaned.

She rushed to his side. "Severus," she said, feeling awkward addressing him thus, "are you all right?"

To her dismay, his eyes grew wide as he looked around him in a panic. He shrieked at her as he had before and made a leap for one of the bookshelves that lined the room. However, his wounded leg couldn't bear the weight, and he fell to the ground. He drew his bandaged thigh to his chest and began to wail, a desolate keening sound. Alarmed, she seized the cloak he had left on the bed and attempted to cover him with it. He batted her hands away, but she seized him firmly, wrapping him in the cloak as she had seen the Thestral conceal him in her wings, and he quieted.

She crooned comforting words as she held him, hoping to inure him to the sound of human speech. The words became a lullaby, and when the song was over, his head lolled against her arm. She gathered him close, squared her hips over her feet, and lifted him off the ground. He was impossibly light, as if living with the Thestrals had made him hollow somehow.

She laid him on the bed and slid his black and silver duvet over him. She pushed the matted hair back from his face and was surprised to see several strands of silver at his temples. She sighed, feeling utterly out of her element, and gazed at his face. The harsh lines between his eyebrows were less pronounced in sleep, but they were the same ones that so frequently deepened in scorn during her Potions classes.

Her finger reached out to soothe them, seemingly of its own accord, running lightly along the creases. His eyebrows felt coarse under her finger, and she watched in fascination as his eyeballs moved beneath his lids.

The door opened, and Minerva entered with a large basket. Hermione pulled her hand back from Severus's face and whispered, "He's sleeping."

"My dear girl," whispered the headmistress, "what happened?" She put a hand to Hermione's wrist, where Severus had accidentally scratched her during their altercation.

"It's nothing," said Hermione. "He didn't mean to, but his nails are so long."

"Right," said Minerva. "I'll leave the food and drink on his nightstand for the time being. Now, we need to run him a bath."

"I don't think he'll like that."

"Like it or not, it must be done. Cleansing Charms only go so far, and the man is in a bad way."

"Aren't you worried that he won't trust you?"

"I don't think Severus Snape ever trusted anyone, not even Albus," said Minerva, rolling up her sleeves.

The two women stepped into the bathroom. Minerva lit the candles and Hermione let out a low whistle. The only bathroom she'd seen to rival it was the Prefects', but where that was all in white and gold, this bathroom was in green and maroon, with sleek silver fixtures. It was dark where the Prefects' bathroom was light, intimate where the other was open, and it begged to be soaked in, preferably with a long Russian novel and a glass of Georgian wine.

"How on earth could he have left this?"

"We shall have to ask him when he's feeling more himself," said Minerva, turning several tap handles, which began filling the tub with water and the air with freshly-scented steam.

Hermione breathed deeply. "This makes me want to dive in."

"Well, one of us must if we're to clean him properly without drowning him," said Minerva. "Transfigure yourself a bathing costume. I'll fetch Severus."

"Be careful," said Hermione, slipping off her cloak. "He doesn't like being surprised."

The headmistress shook her head. "He never did."

When Hermione had untwisted the straps of her swimsuit, Minerva entered the bathroom with a nude, unconscious Snape bobbing after her.

"Did you Stun him?" asked Hermione, dismayed.

"Not at all. I knew he'd tuck in to the food and drink as soon as we left the room, and I spiked his pumpkin juice with Dreamless Sleep. I thought it would be easier to clean him this way."

"He really has gone wild," commented Hermione. "In his right mind, Professor Snape would have smelled it immediately."

Minerva shook her head. "Well, it's our task to get him looking more like himself. Perhaps the personality will follow."

Hermione lowered herself into the steaming water and helped Minerva ease him into the tub. Hermione carefully dipped him into the water, making sure his mouth and nose stayed above water. When he was thoroughly wet, she raised him, dripping, and deposited him in a sitting position on a pile of towels, feet dangling in the water.

Minerva conjured a coarse scrub brush for Hermione, and a comb and scissors for herself. The women worked in companionable silence, which was only broken by the occasional Evanesco. After periodic rinses in the tub and an hour of trimming, scrubbing, and clipping, Severus Snape began to emerge from the mess of grime and hair.

"I think his hair used to be longer," commented Hermione.

"Do you think so?" asked Minerva, punctuating her query with brisk snips of the scissors. "Ah, no matter. It must be evened up. There, don't you think that suits his forehead?"

Hermione shrugged. "It doesn't go with the full beard."

"Of course it doesn't. That will be next to go."

Hermione finished trimming Severus's finger and toenails with a Talon Clipping Charm and looked appraisingly at his face. "Don't you think he might look better with some hair on his face?"

"Don't be cheeky."

"I'm being serious." She held up her finger and drew it along the point of his jaw, finally locating it beneath the mass of hair. "Thin here, and around his mouth."

"Quite Mephistophelean. He'll like that."

Hermione transfigured the scrub brush into a small safety razor and smiled. "Would you like to do the honours, or shall I?"

"Great Grunnion, girl!" exclaimed Minerva. "Have you never heard of a Shaving Spell, for all love?"

They both jumped when a house elf popped into the bathroom.

"Please excuse Toddy, headmistress," said the elf, ears drooping. "Professor Sprout needs your help in Greenhouse Five. Very bad students are feeding her plants trick candies."

"Confound it!" exclaimed the Headmistress. "Do you think you can finish on your own?"

"I'll be fine," said Hermione. "Just lower him onto this step and prop him against the side."

With a grumbled curse, the headmistress Apparated.

Hermione began cutting his long beard with the scissors Minerva had left behind, trimming it to the width of her fingers. "I didn't know she could do that, did you?"

The unconscious man made no response, and Hermione continued snipping until she could clearly see the shape of his face. She squirted creamy lather into her hand from a nearby tap and scrubbed it into what remained of his facial hair.

She reached for the razor and nearly screamed when he seized her wrist.


	6. Chapter 6

She stared into his face in mute horror. He opened his mouth, as if to shriek at her again, when a glob of shaving cream that hung precipitously from his moustache fell into his mouth. He frowned for a moment, tasting, and emitted a horrible gagging sound before sticking his face into the water. He scrubbed his hands across his tongue, trying to rid his mouth of the taste. He emerged from the steaming water still spitting, and submerged again, shallow enough that she could hear his wordless protests clearly through the bubbles.

At last, he emerged from the water, shaking the excess from his hair and rubbing the last of it from his eyes, and glared at her.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Hermione was unable to keep from giggling, especially when slimy deposits of shaving foam still clung to his beard. As if sensing the source of her merriment, he ran the length of his arm across his face and grimaced at the amount of shaving foam that came away.

Hermione grabbed a flannel from the side of the tub. "Here," she said, wetting it briefly in the water. "Let me help you."

He pulled away from her initially, hands raised in a defensive posture. She stood before him, waiting for him to become accustomed to her proximity, and then held out the cloth to him.

She could see the thoughts fly across his face as he examined her, in stark contrast to the man who once held his opinions as closely as he kept his enemies. Finally, he capitulated, returning to the step he had recently vacated. The impatient look he gave her was so characteristic of Professor Snape that she laughed aloud again.

"You didn't drink the Dreamless Sleep, did you?" she asked, gently rubbing the flannel over his face.

He was looking over her shoulder, as if searching for an escape. She frowned.

"Look at me."

He seemed to find the surface of the water of great interest.

"Severus, please look at me."

The use of his first name had spectacular results. His eyes widened, and he jumped from his seat to the centre of the tub with an inarticulate roar, where he lay on his back, attempting to float. Unfortunately, his emaciated figure wasn't as buoyant as he hoped, and he had to flutter his feet and arms continuously to keep his face above water.

Hermione wiped the water from her eyes and approached him cautiously. His eyes were screwed shut, but his mouth was moving, his lips and tongue shaping words but giving them no voice.

After staring at him blankly for a moment, Hermione approached him carefully, extended her arm beneath the water and placed it gently beneath the small of his back.

The slightest of tremors went through his body, and then he relaxed into the support, limbs quieting to stillness. Even his mouth stilled, lips falling slightly apart, and he emitted a great sigh.

She held him there, floating in the water for what could have been minutes or hours, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, watching the great vein in his throat pulse with his heartbeat.

At length, he opened his eyes and gazed into her face.

"You," he whispered, voice hoarse from disuse.

She blinked in surprise. "Do you know me?"

He made no reply, but continued to stare at her face intently. Hermione dropped her gaze, reluctant to expose herself to Legilimency. She now knew better than to think him harmless.

He placed his hand to the arm that supported him, and slid his hand slowly up her arm, past the strap that had slid from her shoulder, and delicately ran his fingertips along the back of her neck. Gooseflesh broke out over her arms, and she shivered violently.

He withdrew his hand quickly, but when she did not withdraw her supporting arm, he placed the flat of his hand against the base of her skull and pressed softly, encouraging her to meet his gaze once more. She shook her head.

"Look at me," he said, with a shadow of his old command in his voice.

She turned her head downward and looked him squarely in the face.

The hand that rested on her neck slid around to her face, and rough fingertips softly skimmed her cheekbone, brushed her nose, then slid down across her lips and chin. He drew his index finger down the centre of her neck, to the top of her sternum, stopping only when he reached the edge of her swimsuit. Not once did his eyes leave her face.

Hermione felt blood rush to her face, and she turned away again. However, in doing this, her gaze swept across his body, and she realised that he was becoming aroused. Well of course, she scolded herself, the poor man hasn't seen a human female in years. She swallowed hard, not unaffected by his tumescence, though whether it was anxiety or anticipation she couldn't say.

As if reading her mind, Severus raised himself to face her, treading carefully in the shallow water in front of her. Wishing to dissuade him from thoughts unrelated to bathing, she approached the taps and poured a generous measure of a fresh-smelling soap into her hand. He was watching her with a guarded expression, and she held out the soap for his inspection.

"I need to wash your hair," she said.

He didn't appear to have heard a word. He simply stared at her. Hoping that she wouldn't live to regret it, she gently seized his arm and floated him over to the rim of the tub, where he settled into the seat without protest.

"You should close your eyes," she instructed, climbing into the seat next to him.

To her surprise, he complied, and she began massaging the soap into his scalp. Though Minerva had cut off the most matted and filthy parts of his hair, Hermione was still shocked at how long she had to scrub before the mass on his head began to feel like hair again. The foam turned dull brown, and Hermione scooped water over his head to rinse it. Her second handful of shampoo lathered white, and she belatedly realised that Severus was mumbling something.

She gently eased his head back into the water, and he relaxed into his floating position as she rinsed the last of the soap from his hair, pleased by its silky texture. He opened his eyes again, this time staring at the ceiling overhead. She felt his body tense.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't let me touch the ground," he whispered.

"We're nowhere near the ground," she said, frowning. "We're in your chambers at Hogwarts."

"Don't let me touch the ground!" he said with greater urgency, pupils dilating.

"I won't," Hermione said quickly. "Not unless you want me to."

"Never the ground," he said, eyelids falling shut. "Never the ground."

She was losing him. "Why won't you touch the ground?" she asked desperately.

"That's where he is."

"I won't let him near you," she said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "You're safe here with me."

His rough breathing steadied, and while she suspected he was pretending to be asleep, she decided that calling his bluff would serve no purpose. Gently, she levitated his dripping body and was about to lay him on the towels she and Minerva had set out, but paused. Was the floor the same as the ground?

Not wishing to break her word to her former teacher, she levitated him out of the bathroom and into his bed. She cast a Drying Charm for good measure, and pulled the bedclothes up to his chin. Again, her hand was drawn to his face, where she wiped away a tear that had trickled from the corner of his eye. Hermione felt her throat tighten as she rubbed the droplet between the tips of her fingers, despairing of ever finding the man that could convict Lucius Malfoy inside this fragile shell.

She pursed her lips and blinked back her tears. Sorrowing over the situation did no good. If there was a way to bring back the Severus Snape that she knew, she would need help beyond what the headmistress would give her. She shivered suddenly and realised that she was still standing next to his bed in her sodden swimsuit, and the sun had set, taking with it what warmth remained in the air. When she had dried herself and dressed, she pulled the velvet draperies shut. Without the sun to wake him, he would sleep as long as he needed to, which suited her. She had work to do.

"Good night." She eased herself out the door to the hallway. As the portrait closed behind her, she fancied that she heard the words "Thank you" through an exhalation, though she couldn't be certain.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

She met Minerva in the corridor leading to the Great Hall. She was covered in dirt and two red spots graced her cheeks.

"Two hundred points!" she hissed. "I had to deduct two hundred points from my own house! If Severus were conscious, he'd wet himself laughing."

"He was conscious."

"Preposterous. That was enough Dreamless Sleep to knock out a granite statue of Ichabod the Intoxicated."

"He didn't drink it."

The headmistress blinked in surprise. "That sly thing!" she exclaimed. "I wonder at how much he overheard. But my dear, you look positively fierce. What happened?"

"He's not himself."

"Did he say anything?"

Hermione just managed to keep from blushing. The embarrassing part was immaterial. "He said he didn't want to touch the ground because that's where 'he' is."

"Those horses drove him mad," said Minerva vehemently.

"No!" Hermione protested. "The Thestrals couldn't do that. You don't think-" she cut off abruptly.

"What?"

"You don't think he could be talking about Professor Dumbledore, do you?"

"Albus isn't in the ground," Minerva pointed out.

"Severus doesn't know that. He was long gone by that time."

"Perhaps. How was he when you left?"

"Asleep. For real, this time."

"Then we shall let him sleep," said Minerva with an air of finality. "I'll have the house elves leave him food for when he wakes. As for you, my dear, you're welcome to stay the night here in one of the guest rooms."

"Thank you, Minerva, but I shouldn't. I have some things to look into tonight."

"Either way you decide, feel free to make use of the library," said the headmistress shrewdly. "And do try not to stay up all night. I've taken enough points from Gryffindor today."

"I'll only be checking one or two references this evening."

The headmistress's disbelieving look startled a laugh out of Hermione.

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Minerva. "I'm going to check on Severus, then do a sweep for Weasley Wheezes in all four houses. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, I have a meeting with the centaurs."

"Good. I fully expect you to take advantage of the days off your supervisor was kind enough to grant you."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Days? As in plural? What did you tell him?"

A self-satisfied smile lifted the corner of the headmistress's mouth. "I might have mentioned the dragon pox. Now, to the library with you!"

"Won't I disturb the students?"

"My dear, students aren't anywhere near the library two days before Christmas."

"I was."

The headmistress's expression spoke volumes. Hermione's laughter echoed off the stone corridor walls.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione was slightly out of breath when she reached the club. "Coral, is Firenze in tonight?"

"Of course," said the bartender, brow wrinkled in concern. "What's wrong?"

Hermione gave a smile that was almost convincingly reassuring. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say, I could really use Firenze's opinion."

"That anti-Mars effect chap is talking his ear off over there. I'm sure he'd be delighted to be disturbed. Can I get you something?"

"Something bracing would be good."

"Manhattan?"

"Perfect."

Hermione threaded her way through the other patrons to reach Firenze's table, which was about fifteen feet back from the stage, where a juvenile centaur sang, accompanying himself with a lyre. The language he sang wasn't one Hermione knew, and the melody was oddly haunting.

Firenze was obviously listening to the music and not the man who was attempting to lecture to him. Hermione stood behind them until song was over, and then slid into Firenze's peripheral vision.

"Hermione!" exclaimed the centaur, clearly relieved. He recovered himself and turned to the man next to him. "I beg your pardon, sir, I must take my leave." He jerked his head toward Hermione. "Official Ministry business."

Firenze took her arm and steered her to a dark table in the corner, where Hermione knew they would not be disturbed. Coral delivered their drinks, and Firenze gazed at her, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

"Did they meet with you?"

Hermione blinked, momentarily confused about who Firenze meant. "Oh yes, Magorian led me to a council of eight, and they heard my proposal. Magorian said to expect an answer tomorrow."

"Brava," said Firenze, raising his glass to her. "To new relationships and old."

She touched the rim of her glass to his, and they both drank. Hermione let the warmth from the strong drink fade from her throat, not sure of how to tell him the rest.

"There's rather a bit more," she said at last.

"Oh?"

"When I brought them the first gift, I also brought a sheep for the Thestrals. One of the females had a man on her back. I spoke to him, and he escaped into the trees."

Firenze's eyebrows drew together, but he said nothing.

"After I finished with the council, I told Magorian about the man. He said that by refusing to go with me when the Thestrals presented him, the man was no longer welcome. He shot the man with an arrow, and I brought him back to Hogwarts. I think he's been living with the Thestrals for about three years." She paused again and took another sip of her drink. "Minerva and I dressed his wounds and cleaned him up, but he's gone very queer. He understands spoken language but he seems more likely to shriek like the Thestrals rather than speak. He maintains the ability to think and plan, but his logical faculties seem to have been skewed somehow, and he becomes agitated easily. From what limited research I've been able to do, he seems to be suffering from some kind of delusions. I was wondering if you could tell me if the Thestrals could somehow be involved in making him behave this way."

"From your description, I presume that you knew this man before."

"Yes, I knew him long before the war."

"And you feel that the difference in demeanour is far beyond what may be attributed to the grief that led him to the Thestrals?"

"Definitely."

"Would it be too much of an imposition to see him?"

"Minerva wishes to keep this in confidence, but if you think that seeing him could help figure out what's wrong with him, then we'll go to Hogwarts at your earliest convenience."

"One wonders who Minerva would wish to keep hidden."

Hermione met his curious eyes. "It's Severus Snape."

Firenze's eyes widened. "Horse Lords," he swore quietly. He covered his discomfiture with a sip of his drink. "I think it would be wise to go tomorrow."

"Will nine o'clock suffice?"

He nodded. "I will meet you at the castle gates."

"Don't get yourself shot," said Hermione.

Firenze smiled ruefully. "Have no fear," he said. "I doubt the circumstances of my last brush with an arrow are likely to recur anytime soon."

"Certainly not," agreed Hermione. "Not even next Beltane."

Firenze gave her an appraising look. "Indeed?"

"So I'm told. I will keep you abreast of future negotiations."

"Please do."

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Firenze and Hermione were quickly ushered to Severus's chambers by Toddy, the headmistress's excitable house elf. Hermione did not have to press her ear to the door to hear shrieking, yelling, and the sounds of hard objects being thrown against the wall.

Hermione gave the password and they threw open the door.

"Expelliarmus!" she yelled, aiming her wand at the bed, where Severus stood with a huge leather-bound volume in one hand and Minerva's wand in the other. Both objects sailed out of his hands and onto the floor, and the wand rolled harmlessly away from the bed.

Severus shot her a look of pure venom and attempted to stretch his hand out far enough to grab the wand.

"For pity's sake," snapped Minerva, who was crouched against a bookshelf and sporting a bloody nose, "Stun him! The man's a menace!"

However, Firenze reached his bedside first and uttered something halfway between a snort and a whinny. It did not sound patient or complimentary.

Severus stared up at him, eyes glittering dangerously. He bared his teeth at Firenze, who drew himself up to his not unimpressive height.

Firenze said something else in the language of horses, and Severus exhaled suddenly, giving it only the slightest voice, and sat down meekly on the bed, eyes lowered. Firenze, however, extended his hand and lifted Severus's head so that their eyes met.

Firenze made a low sound in his throat that reminded Hermione strongly of the Thestrals. Apparently, it did the same to Severus. She was stunned to see her former teacher's eyes fill with tears, which began spilling down his cheeks.

"He should be comforted," said Firenze softly, "preferably by someone fully human."

"Fool me twice, shame on me," said Minerva angrily, wiping blood from her nose. "That's how he managed to get my wand away from me."

Hermione nodded at Firenze and sat next to Severus on the bed. Awkwardly, she put her arms around him. He leaned into her embrace, gaunt body shaking silently.

"What did you say to him?" asked Minerva, who had retrieved her wand and stopped her nosebleed.

"I told him that he was far too old to act like a foal," said Firenze with a shrug. ""I also demanded his obedience as dominant male."

"You did what?" sputtered Hermione.

"Thestral social hierarchies are based on age. I reminded him that as I am the eldest equine present, he should do as I say."

The man in her arms had ceased shuddering. "Now what?" she asked Firenze.

"I'd like for you to speak with him as you did yesterday."

"And watch out for the right hook," added Minerva, whose nose was still puffy.

Hermione gently relaxed her arms and let her right hand slide down his back, where she could clearly feel each vertebrae and rib.

"Severus," she said softly. "How are you feeling today?"

He withdrew from her with lightning speed and opened his mouth as if to shriek again. He shut it abruptly when Firenze gave a rumbling whicker.

"It's his name," said Hermione suddenly. "It upsets him."

"Good," said Firenze, approvingly. "Try again."

"Sir," she entreated. "Sir, you must speak with us. Much depends on you."

Rather than meet her gaze, he looked up at Firenze, who folded his arms across his chest.

"No," said Severus.

"But you must. You must also learn to take instructions from your human elders," said Firenze with a nod of his head in Minerva's direction. "Your herd is here, and you have responsibilities to them all."

"They drove me out," Severus snarled. "I did what was necessary, and they drove me out."

"Just because your herd drives you out doesn't mean they don't need you," said Firenze simply. "You and your herd have grown and changed. Give them an opportunity to make amends, Severus."

Severus winced at the use of his name. "Do not call me that. It's a bad name."

"What would you have us call you?" Hermione's voice was gentle.

"Anything but that!" he snapped.

"Severus is not a bad name," said Minerva vehemently. "Severus is the name of my friend, my colleague, and a man selfless enough to sacrifice everything for the greater good."

He screwed his eyes shut and shoved the heels of his hands against his ears. He began mouthing words to himself. Hermione recognised the mantra as the one he'd recited yesterday whilst floating in the bathtub, though it was no more intelligible now than it was then.

Firenze nodded. "I think we should leave him to rest for the time being. Has he eaten today?"

Minerva pointed to a pile of breakfast food and broken crockery, the latter of which she fixed with a wave of her wand. "I was bringing him breakfast and found him curled up in the chair. He attacked me when I spoke to him and knocked the tray out of my hands. Toddy?"

The house elf popped into the room. "Yes, headmistress?"

"Please bring Sev- rather, please bring this man a generous tray of food. I might also suggest that all of his dishes have Unbreakable Charms placed on them."

"Yes, headmistress!" the elf squeaked, disappearing.

"Now that's been taken care of, would you both be kind enough to join me in my office for tea? There is much to discuss."

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Elevenses with the headmistress left Hermione comfortably full and warm. They all sipped their tea in thoughtful silence, which Firenze broke at length.

"I have heard of situations in which human children are raised by Thestrals," said Firenze. "Usually, a few years living among kind, generous, and loving humans is enough to integrate them acceptably into human society. Their minds are altered, but not in such a way that is detrimental. However, for those unfortunate enough to be delivered into less affable circumstances, such as the boy Kaspar Hauser, they are not able to comprehend the cruelties of humanity and live solitary, often wretched existences."

"But what of grown adults?" inquired the headmistress.

"All creatures capable of feeling grief are drawn to Thestrals," said Firenze, "but this is the first time I have heard of a situation where an adult human chose to live with Thestrals for an extended period of time."

"Do centaurs understand the mechanisms by which Thestrals comfort the aggrieved?" asked Hermione.

"It's not a mechanism or incantation," said Firenze. "It's magic so old it has no name."

"If it's that old," commented the Headmistress as she daintily dipped a piece of shortbread into her tea, "then surely you have some idea of how it works."

Firenze thought for a moment. "I visited the Thestrals once when I believed I had lost someone forever. It feels as if the unfortunate aspects of your situation are diminished and hope may return."

"I almost felt like I'd been given a Calming Draught," added Hermione.

Minerva munched thoughtfully for a moment. "Behaviour modifying potions like the Calming Draught can be addictive and can result in all kinds of problems. Is it possible that somehow Severus's prolonged exposure to the Thestrals had ill effects?

"There may be some truth in this," said Firenze. "The Thestrals would not have returned a man in such a state without a good reason."

"Perhaps they realised that he wasn't getting any better," said Hermione. "So if living with the Thestrals for years did this to him, will it take him years to recover?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Firenze sadly. "However, if this is the cause of Severus's condition, then my appearance today did him no good. Keep him to his own kind as much as possible, and under no circumstances let him return to the forest until he is himself again."

Hermione glanced out the window and gasped when she realised that it was after noon. "I must go to the forest to meet Magorian," she said apologetically.

"Please allow me to escort you," said Firenze. "I, too, have business in the forest."

Hermione nodded at him with an inquisitive look, then turned to the headmistress. "I will return as soon as I can."

"Be safe, both of you," said Minerva, holding an ice bag to her nose.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Magorian seemed unsurprised to see Firenze, though he did not acknowledge him in any way.

"Our debate has carried on longer than we anticipated, human," said Magorian. "You may come back tomorrow."

"Very well," said Hermione, unaccountably relieved that she would have more time to spend working with Severus.

"I seek an audience with the council," said Firenze.

"For what purpose?" asked Magorian.

"I will speak on behalf of the humans," said Firenze.

"You did so for years before you were expelled from our herd," said Magorian. "What makes you feel that our answer will be any different this time?"

"You have taken a human into the longhouse and you heard her speak. The least you can do is to allow me the same courtesy."

"You may come with me, but I take no responsibility for you," said Magorian, stony faced. He trotted off into the forest. Firenze followed him.

"Good luck!" called Hermione after them. Her voice echoed through the frozen forest. It suddenly hit her that tomorrow would be Christmas.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione's fingers tingled in the warmth of the fire she started in Severus's fireplace. Minerva was overseeing a mass detention, and Hermione was to watch Severus sleep, an activity that appeared to have occupied him since the late morning. Once the wood had properly caught fire, she poured herself a cup of tea from the tray the house-elves had left and occupied herself with looking through his bookshelves, which contained an absurd number of threateningly titled tomes. She withdrew a volume of bound vellum to admire the illuminated text. The detail, particularly in the poisons section, was admirable, if grotesque. As she perused the book, Hermione began to unconsciously hum Adeste Fideles.

A soft rustle of bedclothes drew her attention, and she saw Severus sitting up in bed, frowning at her.

"Would you like some tea, sir?" she offered, standing. "Perhaps a sandwich?"

He continued to frown at her wordlessly. She laid the book down on a chair by the fire and brought the tray to his bedside.

She poured a cup of tea and handed it to him. He took it, warming his hands on the mug. At length, he seized several sandwiches from the tray and ate ravenously, the crumbs sticking to his beard and falling into his sheets. When he had eaten and drunk his fill, he threw off his sheets, stood up on the bed, and began to stretch.

Hermione was mortified to realise that she was eye level with his private parts, and they were none too flaccid. She looked away, flushing furiously. Her gaze fell upon the large wooden wardrobe that stood near the door to the bathroom, and she opened its door. She seized the silk robe that hung from the door and paused, not wishing to get too close to him.

He noticed her actions and looked at her curiously. She tossed the robe toward him, and it landed at his feet. He looked at the garment uncomprehendingly and knelt to examine it. He smoothed the fabric with his fingertips and picked it up. He looked at her then with an intense look on his face, and, to her shock, began to rub the fabric against his erection. He emitted a guttural groan and wadded the fabric around his penis, making long downward strokes with his hand, eyes never leaving her face.

Hermione watched, both horrified and fascinated by the sight before her. She felt frozen to the floor, helpless to stop watching. She knew that becoming aroused by her half-mad former teacher had to be completely wrong, but his uninhibited self-pleasure left her unable to formulate a reason to stop it. The tip of his penis was visible protruding from the silk, and she was interested to note that his glans had turned darker as he increased the rhythm of his strokes.

His breaths were becoming raspier, and he allowed himself to fall backwards on his pillow, eyes still fixed on her, and he brought his other hand down to rub the smooth fabric against his scrotum. He squirmed against it, and she found herself stepping forward to see him more clearly. Now she could make out the tiny beads of perspiration on his forehead and on the skin beneath his eyes.

His eyelids drooped low, and he groaned again, fist pumping faster and faster. His skin was flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he frantically tossed the robe away and seized himself with his bare hands, which moved so quickly that they blurred against the base of his shaft. She couldn't help herself. She reached out with her hand and touched the tip of his penis. The flesh felt like warm silk, but only had a moment to process this before his hips gave a jerk, he let out a shout to wake the dead, and seed streamed out of his penis in uneven arcs to spatter on his chest. Several viscous droplets landed on her hand.

She raised her hand to her face and succumbed to the irresistible urge to sniff the substance. It was alien and musky, but unaccountably reminded her of the forest. Severus had fallen back on the bed with his eyes closed, catching his breath. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few moments, and he propped himself on his elbows, looking dazed but satisfied. There was even a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione suddenly felt quite awkward, a feeling that was compounded exponentially when he focused his gaze on her and said in an affronted voice, "Miss Granger?"

She stared at him flabbergasted for a moment, and then ran out the door as quickly as her legs could carry her.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

She nearly trampled Minerva as she tore down the hallway.

"Whatever is wrong, child?" asked Minerva, disentangling herself from her frantic former student.

"Professor Snape- I- he-" she stammered.

"Calm down," ordered the Headmistress severely. "Did he hurt you?"

Hermione shook her head, breathing hard and trying to quiet her racing heart.

"Did he threaten you in any way?"

Again, she shook her head, but she could feel tears of humiliation filling her eyes. "I need to go, Minerva, I need to get away."

"Hermione." The Headmistress's sharp tone made her snap to attention. "I insist that you tell me what happened." She led the younger woman into a classroom and locked the door. "Now, what put you in such a state?"

"Professor Snape-" she seemed unable to bring the words about.

"Severus," corrected the Headmistress firmly. "What did he do?"

"He woke up, ate some sandwiches and drank tea. Then he stretched and-" she trailed off again.

"-and what?" prompted Minerva.

"He masturbated," she whispered. The crude word seemed so far removed from the mesmerising spectacle that she had witnessed that the stricken look on her face was genuine.

The Headmistress's eyebrows rose, and she threw back her head and laughed. "Is that all?" she said.

"No."

That word brought the Headmistress up short. "Hermione," she said urgently, "you must tell me the rest. Did he touch you?"

Grateful for the Headmistress's phrasing, she answered in the negative. "But after he- I mean, afterwards, he said my name. I couldn't stay after that."

The Headmistress's brow furrowed. "I hate to ask this of you, my dear, but you must come with me now to see him. If he said your name, then he is returning to himself. We must reinforce it."

"Just like the centaurs," said Hermione unhappily. "Consistent interactions over time."

"Precisely."

"But do we have to go now?"

"We must. He may be in a dangerous state right now."

The Headmistress made her way down the hallway toward the Duchess of Burgundy's portrait.

"That's what I'm afraid of," muttered Hermione to herself as she followed Minerva.

The older witch pressed her ear against the portrait. "It's all quiet," she said, drawing her wand. She spoke the password and the door swung open.

"MINERVA!" yelled a furious voice. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

"He's definitely feeling better," said the Headmistress in a loud aside. Hermione would have laughed if she hadn't been completely terrified.

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

The two women entered the room, where the furious man stood, wrapped in a sheet.

"You're standing on the floor!" cried Hermione in surprise before she could stop herself.

"Of course I'm standing on the floor, idiot girl," he growled. "Where else would I stand?"

A glorious image of him standing nude and erect on the bed sprang into her mind, and Hermione looked away, blushing.

"Severus, it's good to see you," said the Headmistress, putting deliberate stress on the name. Both women waited for him to shriek, but he only scowled.

"Cut the niceties, Minerva. Why am I here?"

"Because it's your room," said the Headmistress, with an ill-concealed smile.

"Blast it, woman, if you're going to torture me, do me the courtesy of chaining me to the wall and using pointed objects. Your feeble attempts at humour are inhumane."

"We're not trying to torture you, Severus," said the Headmistress, "it is merely a pleasant side effect. We're here to ask for your aid."

He narrowed his eyes. "What sort of aid?"

"We need you to testify against Lucius Malfoy," said Hermione. "You're the only one who can."

"Your negotiating skills could use some work," commented Severus. "It's generally a bad idea to let someone know he holds all the cards."

Hermione frowned. Negotiating with centaurs consisted of having thick skin and a penchant for brutal honesty. Snape was indeed a horse of a different colour.

"Besides," Severus continued in a haughty voice, "your precious Potter has no doubt told you of my role in the Order. I cannot be expected to testify against Malfoy as long as the Dark Lord is living. Now, Minerva, I believe you were asking me for a favour before the know-it-all interrupted?"

The two women exchanged glances.

"Severus, if you will pardon the foolish question," began the Headmistress delicately, "can you kindly tell me today's date?"

"Certainly," he growled, "it is-" he broke off for a moment and looked at his surroundings, taking in the winter scene clearly visible through a crack in the curtains, the livid scar that marred the Headmistress's face, and finally Hermione, who was not looking at him with her usual mix of deference and fear.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he said at last.

He wrapped the sheet tightly around himself and stalked into the bathroom. The women followed and found him standing in front of the mirror, staring at his face. The sheet had fallen, exposing his protruding ribs.

He raised a shaking hand to his face, tips ghosting over his messy beard and furrowed brow, and finally running a hand through his shorter hair, which, Hermione noted with satisfaction, flattered his face in a way longer hair never had. However, Severus didn't seem the least interested in whether or not his haircut was flattering. His face had gone a shade paler than his customary pallor.

"Perhaps you'd better sit down," suggested Hermione.

It was a sign of how shaken he was that he made no snide remarks as he complied with her request. Hermione cast a warming charm on the teapot and poured him a cup.

"How long have I been away?" he asked the Headmistress.

"By our reckoning, three years."

"Of course, we'll need to know the last thing you remember in order to give you a better idea how much time has passed for you," added Hermione.

He rounded on her. "The most helpful thing you can do for me, Miss Granger, is to remove yourself from my presence."

"Hermione is the one who found you, Severus," said Minerva, "and I am certain that you will find her perspective to be useful."

The look that Severus gave his former colleague left no doubt of his opinion on the subject.

"It's all right, Minerva, I'll leave," said Hermione, anxious to escape. "There is much to tell, and I'm sure Severus would be more comfortable if you were the one to tell him."

The man in question stiffened. "Miss Granger, who granted you permission to address your teachers with such insolent familiarity?"

"I did," said Minerva. "Now, if you've finished berating my friend for an error of courtesy I made, we can begin. Unless you would prefer to have an opportunity to put on some clothing first?"

Severus looked at her in astonishment, but managed to refrain from any unsolicited comments. "I will dress, Minerva. I will meet you in your office in twenty minutes."

The headmistress met Hermione's eye and they came to an unspoken agreement.

"I don't think that's wise, Severus," Minerva said. She continued through Severus's frown. "You may not realise this, but you are in a very fragile state at present. We have some very serious things to tell you about recent years, and we are unsure of how this will affect you. For the time being, we cannot allow you to leave this room. When you are prepared to speak with me, please ask Toddy, my house-elf, to fetch me."

Severus's voice was dangerously soft. "On whose authority do you dare confine me?"

"My own," said Minerva. "All will be made clear to you if you can bring yourself to trust me for the time it takes you to put on your robes. Please."

Severus's face was suddenly devoid of any discernable emotion. Hermione doubted the best Legilimens in the world could read his thoughts.

"You may go," he said at length. "I will send the elf for you."

"Thank you, Severus," said the Headmistress.

The two women left his chambers, shutting the door firmly behind them. Minerva squeezed Hermione's arm.

"Congratulations, my dear! You are to be commended!"

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

"Because it's clear that in spite of what he's been through, Severus is still there. No matter how much there is in the way, you've managed, for a few minutes at least, to bring him back. Now, I believe a bit of celebration is in order. Severus is fastidious enough with his personal appearance that I'm sure we won't hear from him for at least half an hour. Thirty minutes is enough time to put a substantial dent in a Christmas Eve pudding, don't you think?"

"Shouldn't we have supper first?"

"Nonsense. Pomona is watching over the little blighters in the Great Hall, and Christmas Eve comes but once a year, after all."

Hermione followed after the Headmistress, unable to articulate her misgivings.


	9. Chapter 9

The pudding was everything Hermione had imagined, from the raisins and currants buried like treasure throughout the grand sphere, to the astringent taste of not altogether burned-off brandy. It was much easier to swallow after the first few bites. Minerva also forewent the traditional buried baubles and holly in favour of a garnish of sugar-spun thistles whose fierce-looking prickles melted on the tongue like snowflakes.

The two women chatted companionably until the Headmistress paused in the middle of an anecdote to look out the window. Following her gaze, Hermione saw Firenze emerging from the forest. She rose and went to the window to get a better view. To her delight, he appeared to be uninjured. He gazed toward the castle and spotted Hermione in the tower window. She waved. He nodded his head and turned and walked towards Hogsmeade, the direction from which he had come that morning.

"Wasn't he wearing clothes earlier today?" asked Minerva, who had come to stand next to her.

Hermione clearly remembered the green cashmere sweater that equally complemented Firenze's fair hair and palomino hindquarters. "I believe he was."

"Curious."

"Yes, it is," agreed Hermione.

They watched as Firenze disappeared around the bend in the road. For the first time in what seemed like weeks, the clouds parted, and the setting sun lit the snowy forest and grounds with a reddish gold hue. The white marble of Professor Dumbledore's tomb seemed to glow, and the snow that had drifted over the black lake gave the ice an iridescent sheen. The remaining students had not been idle this day. Instead of harassing Professor Sprout's plants, those students who hadn't been stuck in detention had built marvellous snowmen and forts that housed heaps of snowballs. Hermione smiled, remembering the wonderful Christmases spent at Hogwarts with her friends. The students had all gone inside now, likely warming themselves by fires in their common rooms or filling their stomachs with hearty Hogwarts fare.

The Headmistress sighed. "I suppose we ought to see what's keeping Severus. It's been nearly an hour."

Hermione blinked. "I had no idea it had been that long."

"Tempus fugit," quoted Minerva, hiccupping, "particularly when there's a grand pudding to be had. Toddy?"

The elf appeared with a crack. "Yes, Headmistress?"

"Would you be so kind as to check on Severus? We expected him some time ago."

"Yes, Headmistress," the elf squeaked.

"Well, my dear, I believe there is time for another piece of pudding. May I tempt you?"

Hermione's head was starting to feel a bit fuzzy from the heavily brandied pudding. "Just a small piece. Thank you, Minerva."

The Headmistress put a generous dollop of whipped cream on the pudding and handed it to Hermione. "Do you think he likes his hair?" asked the Headmistress suddenly.

"I'm certain he does," assured Hermione. "I think the most disturbing thing for him this afternoon was hearing me refer to him by his first name."

"I have no objection to your calling him Severus," said Minerva, "Just be sure not to do so to his face."

There was a double crack, and Toddy reappeared. She looked furious and was holding a squirming Dobby by the arm.

"Let Dobby go!" he cried. "Dobby has done nothing wrong!"

"Headmistress, Dobby is a very bad elf," said Toddy. "Dobby is letting Snape out of his room!"

"Dobby serves all Hogwarts professors! Professor Snape tells Dobby to release him, and Dobby releases him. Dobby is a good elf!"

"Snape is not a professor now, Dobby!" exclaimed Toddy angrily.

"Dobby," said Hermione, fighting a rising sense of panic, "how long ago did you release him?"

Dobby began twisting his ear nervously. "Forty minutes. Please, Headmistress, is Dobby wrong?"

"Toddy and Dobby, please tell the other elves to begin searching the castle for Severus. If he refuses to return to his quarters, Stun him and confine him to his room. Whatever happens, do not tell the staff or students about this, and do not let them see him, if you can avoid it."

"Yes, Headmistress!" chorused the elves.

"And no punishing yourself, Dobby," she said to the forlorn elf, who had already begun twisting his ear more violently. "I will search the grounds. Hermione, I hate to ask you to do this at night, but would you see if he's gone back to the Thestrals?"

Hermione glanced out the window. A nearly full moon was rising over the tops of the trees and cast clear shadows on the snow below. "I will."

"Do you have a hat?" asked the Headmistress.

"I'll be fine," said Hermione, pulling on her cloak.

"Don't be foolish." Minerva frowned disapprovingly and pulled a tartan deerstalker cap over Hermione's head. "Find him quickly."

"If he's with the Thestrals, I'll find him."

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

Within two breaths, the frigid air banished what little drowsiness the Christmas Eve pudding had caused. Hermione was profoundly grateful for the Headmistress's hat, for all that it made her feel like Sherlock Holmes seeking an elusive quarry. The fresh snow squeaked against her boots, and once she was far enough from the lights of Hogwarts, she extinguished her wand and let her eyes adjust to the moonlight. The remaining clouds had dissipated, exposing a black sky strewn with stars and a moon whose light made the snow glow.

"Severus!" she called. The answering echo was muffled by the snow, and she heard no response.

Hermione began to walk the familiar path toward the Thestrals' clearing, eyes darting about the bare branches for any telltale shapes or movement. There were none to be seen. She was about to call his name again when she heard approaching hoofbeats. Magorian.

"I see you are attempting to molest our cousins again."

"I'm looking for the man I retrieved from the forest. He's run away, and I've come to take him back."

"No human, apart from yourself, has entered the forest tonight," said Magorian.

Hermione nearly fainted with relief. "Are you certain?"

"I am. It is very irresponsible of you to lose him."

She smiled in spite of her worry. "I'll put a Tracking Charm on him next time. Thank you for your help, Magorian. I'm sure we'll find him up at the castle. Goodnight."

"Human, wait."

She turned and looked at him expectantly.

"We have reached a decision."

Hermione felt a sudden thrill in the pit of her stomach. "You have?"

"Yes. We would like to change our status with your Ministry. Please see that it happens swiftly."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You'd let me do that for you?"

"We've also taken the liberty of appointing an emissary between your government and our herd. All negotiations in the future will occur between you and the emissary."

Hermione felt as if her heart would burst from excitement. "It's Firenze, isn't it?"

"I hope the choice is amenable to you."

"It's perfect. I can't thank you enough, Magorian."

"It was the council's decision," he demurred, "but I believe it was the right one. I must return to my patrol, human. I doubt I will be seeing you again soon, but I would not be opposed to such a meeting."

She beamed at him. "The feeling is mutual. Magorian, is there a reason you call me 'human' instead of 'Hermione?'"

"Would you like me to call you Hermione?"

"It's what my friends call me, and I'd like to think that you are my friend."

"Then with your permission, I will do so. Look to the stars, Hermione."

"Merry Christmas, Magorian."

The sound of his hoofbeats faded as quickly as they had come. Hermione's triumphant laugh rang through the trees. She turned back toward the castle and stopped suddenly when she saw a pair of luminous white eyes just down the path.

"What is it?" she asked, running to the Thestral that stood before her. "Have you seen Severus?"

He snorted softly and tugged on the sleeve of her robe.

"Please, will you take me to him?"

The Thestral gracefully lowered his wings. Hermione found it much easier to mount a Thestral when she could see him. In the blink of an eye, they were above the trees, wind nearly tearing Minerva's hat from her head. She had to hold the hat on with one hand, but for the first time, Hermione felt secure in the sky, knees gripping the Thestral firmly in the hollows beneath his wing joints, an arm wrapped tightly around his warm neck.

Soon they were back at Hogwarts, nimbly threading between the spires; and when it appeared they would crash into the Great Hall, they ascended so rapidly that Hermione cried out in wonder. She found herself looking down on the Astronomy Tower, where she was surprised to see a black shape huddled against the crenulated tower wall, which she suddenly recognised as her erstwhile teacher. In spite of herself, she tightened her hold on her Thestral, who began to spiral gradually downwards toward the top of the tower. Severus looked up as the Thestral landed, hooves clicking smartly on the stone. With a cry, he ran to it, wrapping his arms gratefully around its head. Gently, the Thestral disengaged itself from his embrace and stepped back. He looked up at the creature with a look of bitter disappointment, but started when he saw the Thestral lower its wing to assist Hermione to the ground.

They stood staring at one another for a long moment. The Thestral made a deep chuckling sound and nudged Hermione toward Severus, spread its wings, and took off, wings sending snow swirling about the tower. Hermione hardly noticed. Severus had donned his customary black teaching robes and had trimmed his beard in the way that Hermione had suggested. He appeared very much the same as he had ever been, but for the forlorn expression on his face. Belatedly, Hermione realised that there were dozens of books strewn about the tower. She picked one up, opening it to a page that had been folded in half.

It was a bound volume of The Daily Prophet dated several months prior to the final battle. She smoothed the bent pages, and retrieved a second volume. This one covered all of Severus's trial, in which he was exonerated in absentia. She was startled to see that a page had been completely ripped out of the book. She looked harder at the man who stood before her and saw that his hand was curled into a tight fist. Wordlessly, she approached him and gently rubbed his knuckles, and at length he released the page. She uncrumpled the wad of paper and the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

"You remember it all, now," she said.

He nodded.

She held up the page, which contained a picture of Albus's tomb. "He's not just in the ground, you know," she said, guiding him to the edge of the tower that overlooked the lake. "I was there. There was a flame so bright you couldn't look at it, but all of us tried, anyway." She gestured toward the tomb, which was nearly buried by a snowdrift. His fingers tightened around hers. "I think everyone saw something different. Harry saw him fly away as a phoenix. Ron saw him scamper into the forest as a fox."

"What did you see?"

"I didn't know at the time," she said. "At first I thought he was a deer, but then I saw the wings."

He stared at her, expression unreadable. "He's not in the ground," he repeated.

"I think he's everywhere, Severus," she said. "I think he's in everyone who ever loved him."

He stiffened at the use of his name, but did not cry out or scold her for using it. He placed his hand on his breast over his heart. "I loved him."

"I know you did."

"They won't have me back."

She looked at him curiously. "The Thestrals?"

"Not the Thestrals, you foolish girl."

She was reminded strongly of Magorian and hid a smile. "What does it matter what they want? They need you. Isn't that enough reason to come back?"

He turned to her and looked deeply into her eyes. "Is it too much to ask to be wanted as well?"

Hermione let the smile that had been building break across her face and reached up to place the heel of her hand against his jaw. His freshly shaved cheek was soft under her fingertips. "What makes you think you're not wanted?"

And then he was kissing her. His lips and nose were frigid, but his mouth was molten. Hermione felt him bat Minerva's hat from her head and wind his fingers through her hair. A contented hum came from deep within his throat. When they finally parted, Hermione's heart felt so full that it fairly ached.

His dark eyes were shining, and a tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Shall we adjourn to warmer environs?"

"We should also return these to the library and let Minerva know we've found you."

"If we must," he said, retrieving her hat and brushing the snow from it. "At the very least, we may return this horrid thing to Minerva."

They gathered the books together, and Severus held open the door to the stairs. She paused, looking back at the clear night sky. A dark shape was suddenly silhouetted against the moon and was gone.

On an impulse, she rose to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Severus."

He placed his hand at the small of her back and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Merry Christmas. Now get inside before you freeze the entire castle."


	10. Chapter 10

New Year's Eve found Severus standing nervously in a corridor holding Hermione's hand.

"Severus, you're cutting off my circulation."

He looked at her pale fingers and loosened his grip. "I'm nervous."

She kissed him fondly on the cheek. "You'll do fine."

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this."

"I asked nicely and made you Yorkshire pudding. I'm told that my Yorkshire pudding is what saved negotiations with the centaurs."

"Accord-saving pudding aside, this is not my preferred way of celebrating the new year."

"Would something more private be to your taste?" she asked, idly rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb.

"Insupportable tease," he growled, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.

The door opened and a booming voice echoed down the corridor. "The Wizengamot calls Severus Snape."

There was a collective gasp from within the cavernous room. For a moment, Severus's body tensed, as if contemplating fleeing. She squeezed his hand. "I'll wait for you here," she whispered. "Just pretend they're all first years."

An imperious scowl settled over his features, and he swept through the open door. Hermione watched him go, marvelling at the way the torches flickered as he passed.

Up in the gallery, Ron Weasley watched his former teacher take the stand, glaring fiercely at anyone who dared to meet his eye. "She did it," he murmured, awestruck. "That brilliant, scary girl!"

LOREMIPSUMDOLORSITAMET

It was nearing midnight at Firenze's establishment, and the celebratory atmosphere was palpable, even among the nonhumans. The Wizengamot allowed Lucius Malfoy's defence several days to respond to the evidence Severus had given, but The Evening Prophet trumpeted MALFOY DID IT, SNAPE CLAIMS, whilst The Quibbler quoted, "OF COURSE HE'S A BLOODY DEATH EATER!" at the top of its front page. Even Rita Skeeter put in her two cents with MALFOY A MONSTER, SNAPE SNIPES. The man of the hour was skulking in a dark corner of the club, looking, to Hermione's eye, frankly bewildered by the attention, but guardedly pleased.

"This is your idea of something more private?" he asked her.

"Firenze asked us to be here. He says he has an announcement to make."

"Couldn't he simply have told you earlier?"

"He could've, but then you would have missed the chance to greet your adoring public."

As if on cue, several former students of Severus's caught his eye from across the room and raised their glasses in salute. He scowled in response.

The band finished their set, and Firenze climbed up on stage.

"I'd like to thank you all for joining me this evening. New Year's is an auspicious time, when we all contemplate the end of one year and celebrate the beginning of a new one. The word 'auspicious,' as many of you know, is derived from 'auspice,' a word meaning 'sign' or 'omen.' This year's guest speakers have expounded on the astral auspices far beyond my poor ability. Instead, I would like to share an auspice of my own. Last week, I was honoured by my herd with the position of Emissary to the Ministry of Magic. I will be working with the Ministry's Centaur Liaison Officer to spread awareness and build ties between our peoples. I feel that this unprecedented communication between humans and centaurs is an auspice of peace and reconciliation, and I am thankful to my herd for allowing me to take part.

"However, my friends, in accepting this position, I will no longer have the time to serve as proprietor of this establishment. However," he said, extending his hand to the pretty ginger-headed centaur who had joined him onstage, "Coral, whom many of you know from her superb cocktails and sound computational analyses of galaxy rotation, has kindly consented to take my place here. I am confident that the only difference you will notice is a higher level of class and sophistication once I have gone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your glasses. In the waning moments of this year, I ask you to drink to the many hopeful auspices this year has given us, and to the new year, when these auspices will come to fruition."

Firenze acknowledged the applause with a gracious nod of his head.

Severus turned to his companion. "That was the announcement for which I postponed my greatly-anticipated private audience with the Ministry's Centaur Liaison Officer?"

Hermione wasn't listening. She was staring across the room to the opposite corner of the room. "Severus, look."

Firenze was making his way through the crowd of well-wishers, but his eyes were drawn to the solitary figure that stood in the corner, half-obscured by the table and deep in shadow.

Across the room, somebody began the countdown to midnight.

Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!

Firenze extended his hand, and the figure stepped out of the shadows, golden hair falling to her bare shoulders. The two centaurs crossed to Hermione and Severus's table. Severus squeezed Hermione's hand to calm her; she had begun squealing excitedly as soon as she recognised Firenze's companion.

"Hermione, Severus, thank you for coming tonight. I suspect you had plans, and I am grateful that you were able to make time for me."

"It was our pleasure, Firenze," answered Hermione quickly.

Thirty-four! Thirty-three! Thirty-two!

"We wanted you to be the first, and preferably only, humans to know," said Burnish with only a mild threat in her tone.

"Burnish has accepted my suit, and we are now mates," said Firenze.

"Oh, how wonderful!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Congratulations," said Severus with uncharacteristic warmth. "May your foals be plentiful."

"And may they be strong their mother," finished Firenze.

Burnish nearly smiled. "Come, Firenze," she ordered. "Now that you have given this place to that ridiculous filly, return to the forest with me."

Twenty! Ninteen! Eighteen!

"It will be my pleasure, dearest," said Firenze. "However, midnight is nearly upon us. It is the custom among humans to kiss in the first seconds of the new year."

"Then let the humans kiss to their artificial historical calendar, and I will kiss you in the lunar new year," said Burnish.

"Isn't that in February?" asked Hermione innocently.

Ten! Nine! Eight!

"I have waited ten years already," said Firenze with a tragic air. "It is no great hardship to wait another two months."

Fire! Four! Three! Two! One!

The cry of "Happy New Year!" rose from all the gathered revellers, and the band began to play "Auld Lang Syne," as tiny points of light began to drift down from the ceiling.

Burnish smirked at Firenze and led him out of the club. As he shut the door behind him, he caught Hermione's eye and mouthed "Thank you." She grinned in response and waved. She turned to the taciturn man beside her.

"Well, are you satisfied?" she asked.

In response, he glared and seized her waist. He wrapped his other hand behind the back of her head and began kissing her, at first on the lips, and then trailing kisses across her jaw line and down her neck until she was gasping.

"I am now," he growled in her ear.

THE END

Author's Note: the Latin used as line breaks has a long and glorious tradition as a space filler. I'm sure Cicero would have been proud. Apologies to Brits, ex-Brits, and Anglophiles everywhere. I don't write in British English unless I have compelling reasons to do so. In this case, I was attempting to make it harder for my gift recipient to guess my identity. I have no idea if it worked. Thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading!


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